Log inStuck in a Window: Your boss
You shiver. For the rest of the night, you are unable to get any real sleep. Instead, you fade in and out of consciousness. Your mind slips away from reality, unable to truly comprehend the sensations coursing through your sensitive body. But the chill of morning air on your naked body, the acidic taste of your own panties, and the coursing pain from your ass all keep you from ever finding restful sleep. The zip ties around your wrists and ankles only dig into your skin more cruelly when you try to stretch your aching limbs. Trapped as you are by the window, the only part of your body that you really have any capacity to move is your head. But your neck is sore from being yanked around by several violent men.
Distantly, you become aware of the sun rising and early-morning traffic picking up on the streets below. You are a sorry sight for any potential passersby. From the bodily juices leaking down your legs, to the sweat soaking your hair, to the morning dew collecting on your breasts – you are damp all over. Your hair hangs down in messy strands, obscuring your face in shame. You try to disassociate. You try not to think about the wooden plunger imbedded in your tightest hole. You try not to think about the soiled panties pressed up against your tongue. But it’s no use. You can’t stop crying.
Somewhere in the haze of your mind, you imagine yourself waking up from a bad dream. You imagine returning home to your fiancé and cooking him a nice, normal dinner, as if none of this had ever happened. And then a loud car horn sounds from somewhere below, crashing you back to a painful reality. The car horn sounds again. And again. You let out a little whine from behind your duct tape gag, as if you had any power to stop the infuriating noise. Finally, your attention is drawn to the source. A man sitting in the hospital parking lot, pointing up at you. Your eyes widen as you recognize the car as Doctor Peters’, your boss.
Quickly, you avert your eyes and angle your face away, fervently hoping that Peters would somehow forget about the half-naked damsel hanging out of the third-story window of his hospital. Your eyes are drawn by a gaggle of girls wearing hospital blue scrubs walking into the building. You gulp. It’s only a matter of moments before your floor opens and someone finds you. You just hope to god that the person finding you is one of your kindly coworkers instead of your overbearing boss. The honking stops, and you comfort yourself with the idea that maybe Peters never actually saw you.
You hear the background hum of voices chattering and doors being unlocked. Your floor is opening up for the day. A pair of footsteps echoes loudly down the hall before the noise recedes, passing by your door. You shiver again. One way or another, this would all be over soon.
The door latch rattles. You hear the sound of metallic scraping. Desperately, you give one last valiant effort to remove the duct tape sealing your mouth shut. You only succeed in letting out a low moan. The door opens. Then the door closes. You crane your sore neck around, trying to see who is there and signal them with your eyes. But whoever it is stands directly behind you. Out of view.
“Is that you, Rose?” The low voice of Doctor Peters sounds from behind you, his tone that of disbelief.
You can’t help but let out a groan of frustration. This is just your luck. To have your boss of all people find you trussed up and stuffed like the sticky slut you are.
You scream through the panties in your mouth. Wiggling your hands and feet, trying to show that you’ve been zip tied and left there. You worry that all you are really accomplishing is wiggling your behind at your boss. The movement sends lightning bolts of pain up your body, emanating from the plunger stuck in your ass. But you don’t know what else to do. You are helpless.
“My, my…” The doctor intones, his voice deep and gravelly.
“MMMMmmmmmfffff! Mmmhmmmmmfffff!” You start screaming again, but your sounds of protests are deadened by the wadded up panties in your mouth.
“Ugh, how the hell did you get yourself into this mess?” There is a note of disgust in the doctor’s voice.
You blink tears out of your eyes. You know what you look like right now. There is a toilet plunger buried deep in your ass. A piece of duct tape covers your pussy but does not cover the deluge of dried semen and other fluids that have dribbled down your shapely legs. You must look like such a slut to him.
“First things first, let’s get you out of here.” You suddenly feel his arms above your back, lifting the window up. He heaves once, twice, and then finally you feel the pressure release against you.
You gasp as suddenly you have room to take deep breaths. With care, you shimmy yourself backwards on your tied ankles, taking small steps as you waddle, ass out, until you are fully clear of the window. You stand, eyes wide, messy with dried spit and mascara, staring at the put together Doctor Peters before you.
He has a hard face and dark features. Known for tolerating no nonsense and having a unfettered work ethic, his glare pierces you unforgivingly, taking in the sight of your bruised and sorry state.
You can’t help but bend over slightly, your ass still sticking out. With the plunger handled buried in your ass, it simply hurts way too much to stand fully upright.
Methodically, Peters reaches into his pants pocket and takes out his mobile phone. Is he calling for help? Does he think you need medical attention? Snap.
No. You begin to cry again as you realize what he’s really doing: taking pictures of you from every conceivable angle. He zooms in on your face and breasts as you begin to cry.
“I hope you understand I have to fire you for this.” He mutters nonchalantly as he gets closeup pictures of your brutalized ass.
You try to turn away, to get away from him, but he reaches forward and rips the duct tape off your chaffed pussy. You let out a muffled squeal as more tears spring to your eyes. Your pussy lips sting horribly as Peters takes more pictures of them.
Finally, he rips the duct tape off your mouth. This stings too, but not as badly as your pussy currently burns. You force your panties out of your mouth with your tongue, gagging horribly.
“Please, sir, Doctor Peters, sir,” You stammer out the words hoarsely. “Please don’t fire me. This wasn’t my fault. I was raped.”
Doctor Peters puts his phone away. He looks you up and down. Then, before you even realize what is happening, he grabs you roughly by the hair and pulls your head towards his crotch. You fall forwards onto your knees, unable to keep your balance with your ankles and hands tied behind you. Somehow, he had fished his engorged cock out of his pants, and in your shock, your open mouth perfectly engulfs his penis.
You are overwhelmed by a sea of emotions. First, disgust at the rancid taste of his semi-hard shaft. You’d have thought doctors would take better care of their personal hygiene. Then, the utter humiliation of being mouth-raped by your boss sets in. After everything you’ve been through, your boss using your mouth like a toy while ten inches of wood fucks your ass adds a whole new layer of humiliation. Finally, the physical pain of crashing to the ground, your head yanked forward cruelly, sets in. You aren’t sure how much more pain your body can take.
Peters threads both hands through your sticky hair, acquiring a vice-like grip on your head. You look up to see a faint smile dance across his features. He groans, loudly. His dick still expanding in your mouth, and it starts to poke against the entrance to your throat. You gargle and try to scream in protest. But your noises of protest are muffled as he shoves you down onto his hardening cock, pressing your nose against a bush of pubic hair. You realize that there is no part of your body that you have control over as Peters begins to fuck your mouth in earnest.
“GACK GACK GACK GACK GACK!” You guegle.
Peters groans, ramming your head back and forth, fucking his cock deeper and deeper into your throat. At full mast, his cock must be nine or ten inches at least. You gag and retch against the invading cock, your throat muscles pulsing around his rock-hard dick. But you are helpless. The only thing you can focus on is to try not to throw up as the rigid cock invades your throat over and over and over again.
Peters is relentless. He jackhammers his cock into your throat with increasing speed, evidently more than happy to use your throat as his own personal cock holster.
“GLK CHLK HFGGGGGGGG GACK GGGRFK!” You make involuntary gagging sounds as he presses your nose deep into his crotch, holding you there immobile. As your vision is obscured by blackness, despair overwhelms you. The pain in your asshole no longer competes with the wretched pain emanating from your stretched throat. You are starting to come to terms with your life now. You are an object. You were born for nothing other than to be used as a fuck toy. You are a cum dump. You are a slut. And you have no choice but to accept it.
“Hrrrrkkggggggg…” You keep gagging as you struggle for air. Peters forces you deeper onto his cock, his cock head pulsing within the deepest regions of your throat. Your face is a mess of precum and saliva. You can’t see. You can hardly breathe. You begin to feel lightheaded as the only sensation you can focus on is the tremendous girth of your boss’s cock rammed into your tight throat.
“HRUAGGHGHGHGH!” You suddenly gasp for air as Peters pulls your head back by the roots of your hair, unsheathing his dick and giving you room to breathe. You take greedy gulps of air and try to make out the blurry figure standing above you, but your vision is obscured by fluids. Then, you feel a warm splattering as Peters jacks his dick off onto your face. You remain still, allowing the warm flood of cum to coat your already destroyed face. He cums for a solid minute, spreading ejaculate all over your ruined face and pretty breasts.
“Mmmm. That was nice.” Peters zips up his cock and takes a rag from a nearby medical cabinet to mop up the stains of spit and precume that had made it onto his pants.
“Please don’t fire me,” you whimper.
“Fine.” Peters whips out his phone, taking a few more pictures of your cumslut face. “But there’s been a change of duties.” You nod. Anything. You just need to keep your life together.
“Every morning and evening before you clock in and out of your shift you are to come by my office. And every morning and evening I will fuck you like the slut you are.”
“Doctor Peters isn’t there… anything else…” You trail off, knowing that you have no power here.
“The alternative is that I can send these photos to everyone in your life. What would you prefer?” His voice is harsh and uncompromising.
Peters’ words are a slap in the face. This is not who you are. Is it? But you find yourself nodding glumly anyway. How can you deny it when you kneel before him covered in his cum? Besides, you need this job. You can’t rely on Rick for everything.
“Good. Have the rest of the day off. See you tomorrow Rose.” And with that, he leaves the room.
You stay there, stunned, for many more minutes. How has your life been so ruined in the space of a day? But you dare not stay long enough for someone else to find you in this state, and you move to action. Hobbling over to a medical cabinet, you fumble with a pair of shears until you successfully cut off the zipties holding you. Grimacing, you slowly pull the handle of the plunger out of your ass. It is an agonizing process, but you finally pull it out, your asshole still aching as if it never left. Finally you grab a rag to clean yourself up as best you can, and change into a spare set of hospital scrubs. You don’t look pretty, exactly, but you are presentable enough to get home. You toss your sundress in the trash. It is ruined.
When you get home, you are startled to see boxes of your own stuff piled outside the door. All of your belongings, stacked haphazardly and thrown into a pile without care. You barge into your house, prepared to give Rick a piece of your mind when you see him pantsless, sitting in front of the TV. He’s jacking himself off to porn! He looks at you and gives you a cocky grin. Rage bubbles up inside you. You’re about to let loose when your eye catches on what’s on the screen.
“Busty Babe begs to be Fucked in the Asshole while Stuck in Window.”
You gulp. Your face is on the screen. Your eyes are rolled back in a mixture of ecstasy and pain while Trevor brutalizes you from behind. Your heart sinks as you look at the view counter. 2.7 million views. How does it have that many views already?
“You’re a fucking pornstar, Rose.” Rick sneers. You note that his cock glistens with precum. He has been jacking off to your public rape. “Get out of my house.”
You are lost for words. “...w-what?”
“I’m not marrying a fucking pornstar slut.” Rick yells. “Now get out of my house before I show you how pornstar sluts should be treated!”
You have no willpower left in you to fight. You turn and walk out of the house, the image of your rape being watched by nearly 3 million people burned into your retinas. Rick slams the door behind you. You collapse among your meager pile of belongings.
It’s raining.
Bad Ending
